The Terran's Wars among the Stars
by DaLintyMan
Summary: After a devastating ambush, the Victory-class Star Destroyer Victor will find out the Unknown Regions are deadly for a reason...
1. Chapter 1

Normally, hyperspace was a time of boredom. As not much could be done other than fall out of it, options were pretty limited for everyone. Except for when there is a massive power surge in the Engineering spaces, then you have to get busy. It almost makes you wish for boredom again, no?

Engineer First Class Sylvant was sweating like a dog as the reactor managed another jump in output. Already, he had managed to un-fuse two coolant pipes, and was now working to integrate them back into the cooling system. "Stupid _gits_." He muttered darkly. "There's a reason they tell you not to play tag with black holes." Indeed, the Star Destroyer had used a black hole as a slingshot, to set up for hyperspace. After escaping the New Republic ambush, the bridge remembered to tell Engineering that, well, they couldn't remotely shut down the reactor. And of course, the fuel feeds were jammed open, so even manual controls couldn't help. With two more commands, coolant began rushing through the reworked pipes, relieving the threat of critical failure (or, as he called it, an explosion).

Captain Llevian felt like sighing in relief. But he didn't, as he was an emissary of the Empire, and had more important things to do. Walking across the bridge on the command walkway, he asked the Astrogation officer: "Can we determine where we are? Or even where we are going?" The man shook his head, eyes still on the holographic console. "No, sir. However, I do think that we are going to drop back to realspace soon. Our slingshot maneuver was roughly aimed at a star, and now we are about to impact the gravity well. ETA is about four hours if the automatic cutouts are still online." A grimace stole over the Captains face, and he slowly walked back to his quarters.

The ambush had struck when the main convoy had stopped to pick up more supplies at an out of the way supply depot. Almost as soon as the three freighters had docked, they were boarded by Rebel soldiers, quickly overwhelming the valiant defenders. Outside, three squadrons of Y-wings had strafed the other Victory-class escort before it could scramble TIEs, and it had broken up, drifting in three parts. Two Assault Frigates then left the station, coming up on the stern of the _Victor_, unleashing punishing volleys into the stern shields. With no good option, the _Victor_ had fled.

His Executive Officer followed him at a brisk pace, arriving at almost the same time. The officer cleared hi throat to get the captain's attention. "Captain." Llevian grunted at him as he sat down at his desk, which was littered with papers and other assorted detritus a working place collects. Several holos of his family were set up on the left side of the wooden desk, with his three children and wife smiling happily out of them. The XO gave a start as his captain swept off the entire desk, and sent the stuff falling to the ground. Noticing his XO standing at the edge of the room, Llevian leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands. "Do you know where we're heading?" He asked abruptly. The XO fidgeted, than answered "Our course is taking us into the Unknown Regions. We have every expectation that-" Llevian cut him off with a wave of his hand. How many ships do you know that came back from the Unknown Regions?" At this the XO's facade fell, and he also fell into a chair. "I know sir, but we need to try something. At least to keep the troops happy."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I'M A LINE BREAK XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Four hours later, the crew of the Victory-class Star Destroyer _Victor _were holding their collective breath as the ship edged closer and closer to the shadow that denoted the star's gravity shadow. On the bridge, the tension could be cut with a knife. Seconds ticked past as the bridge crew held tight to their chair's armrests. Then an unusually loud noise cut through the air, and as one every person on the bridge, including Captain Llevian, turned to look. Standing at the turbolift at the rear of the room were three stormtroopers arguing over a candy bar, and the sergeant had stunned one of the other ones. The sergeant took the wrapper off, took a bite; then seemed to notice that everyone was looking at him. "What? _You_ try eating the slop they feed us for months and see if you don't get a sweet tooth every once in a while." While everyone was trying to process this, and the stunned trooper was taken to the medbay, the "sergeant" removed his helmet, revealing Somta Llevian, eldest child of the Captain. "You do know I knew that you had come aboard. I was just waiting for you to do something stupid." The younger man shrugged. "You know they needed it. In fact..." Somta braced himself in between two backup consoles. "We're here."

The abrupt translation to realspace shook the entire ship and it's 5,200 man crew. Despite being braced, the Llevian in stormtrooper armor was thrown into a crew pit, while the elder had fallen onto him. All over the ship, minor damage was caused by the flutter in artificial gravity, evidenced by showers of sparks and small fires. As the bridge crew started their frenetic efforts to either fix damage or find where they were, Captain Llevian walked back up to the command walkway, favoring his left leg slightly. When he did make it, the sensor officer called up "Sir, unknown contacts at the second planet. Seems like three capitol ships and- They just jumped, and it wasn't hyperspace, sir." That caused Llevian to frown, but quickly smoothed it over. "Very well, then. Tell me when-" He was cut off as three shapes materialized off their bow, only a few kilometers away. Llevian could already tell that these ships had one job: to fight. There were only harsh curves and closely spaced gun batteries, with a crescent shaped head attached to an H-shaped structure. However, the third ship came in at the back, and was, while blocky, reminiscent of the Munificent frigates from the Clone Wars. Even as they watched, strike craft poured from to hangar entrances. Somta stopped counting when he reached eight squadrons. There were two main types: one that looked like a scorpion with it's tail cut off, vaguely, and the other was both far more numerous and was in the form of a delta wing, with several ports in the wings. Oddly enough, the second fighter didn't possess a recognizable cockpit. As they watched several flight of the latter type of fighters overflew the hull, seemingly checking the damage. After being scanned by the Victory's sensors, they showed no trace of a pilot, instead, there was a bank of computers where one would sit. "Remarkable. A working droid fighter. While we can tell there are transmissions from their mothership, they still seem to handle themselves ably." Somta commented. Another transmission was received from the unknowns, and it appeared it was navigation information in an unusual format. "Captain. I-I can't get a good read on this data. The course takes us within three gravity wells, and that's only of planets." Captain Llevian shrugged. "Get me a line to one of these ships. Video and audio." The communications officer turned and began trying to contact the other ships. Before long, an obviously synthesized voice came over the speakers. "The Admiral is on the planet at a meeting. We can talk then. However, your FTL systems is different than what we have experienced."

After a short trip in hyperspace, the _Victor_ emerged over a terrestrial world, with only a fourth of it's surface area covered in water. Gravitic sensors indicated a high density core, and patches of metallic substances were scrawled through the mountains. Several obvious cities and mining facilities dotted the surface in strategic places, with an estimated population in the mid twenty millions. Just by looking at the buildings, Captain Llevian could tell they were built to survive either weather or attacks. In orbit, there were three large constructions, in excess of 15-m tons each, and hundreds of smaller satellites, mounting both civilian and military systems. As the escort led the Victory-class Star Destroyer to the largest station, civilian ships started noticing. Several strains of music were broadcast in their direction, along with the usual questions and blah of civilians. At the station, which bore the fading name of Norse on it's central module, a slip had just opened up to receive the visitor. The ship settled in, and it's engines quieted. Quickly, hundreds of mechanical figures started jumping to the hull, dragging large plates of alloy. When they arrived, what looked like hands rolled out of the way, revealing three pronged emitters, and started welding the new plates to the holes. Another transmission, this one with a different prefix, buzzed at the comm console. Quickly getting the commanding officers attention, the transmission was relayed to the Captain's comm unit. "This is Llevian. What do you want?" The voice over the link came back, fairly young and assured. "My office is in the command node. Would you like to visit? My assistant makes some mean coffee." The Captain looked over his shoulder at his son, who shrugged. "why not, it's not like we have anything better to do."

The weirdest part about all this was the thousands of humans going about their business on the station. Everyone was interested in the new ship, but they acted like they had seen odder things before. Somta had slipped away from the procession, and was making his way to a gold-colored module he had seen from the outside. He took the time to acquaint himself with the locals, and was astonished by their puzzled comments about his armor. It was his pride and joy, a set of Katarn-class commando armor, salvaged from a drifting wreck in the orbit of Coruscant. Even now, it was still nearly impregnable to conventional weapons. But these people? They said they had seen better, and even showed him a picture of the mans brother; in what seemed to be a miniature walker! This could not stand! He had to have one.

Captain Llevian entered the office, expecting, maybe, a governor's or other leader's type of place. What he found was gently surprising. The room was nearly bare, with only a row of desks with holographic projectors to one side, and a much larger desk, with a suitable amount of clutter to scale, on the other. The most interesting aspect was the green, floating crystal above the largest desk. When the man seated at the larger station noticed their arrival, he stood and walked towards them, hand outstretched in greetings. Taking the handshake, Llevian was reaffirmed of his misconception of the man. He was a soldier. The local let go of his hand, and grinned. "It's been awhile since I've had a true soldier come here. Usually, I have to go get them." As he was turning to sit down, he suddenly turned back. "where are my manners? My name is Matt Horner, of the United Species Space Command. Welcome to the Koprulu sector." One of the workers at the consoles turned and said "May I take your order?" with a completely straight face.

A/N: Well, that wraps up first contact. Kudos to those who can guess what the gold module is.


	2. Chapter 2

Admiral Horner turned and gave the man an evil look, and then turned back to the Cabalans. Looking them over, he gave a self-deprecating smile. "Well, I'm not a politician, so you're going to need to talk to the government, and give your history. I'll decide what time you are going to get to speak, so make yourself at home."

Somta Llevian prided himself at knowing the aliens of the galaxy, and how to avoid or deal with them. However, there was at least two completely new species on this station. The first was the inhabitants of the golden habitat module. Their height was greater then humans and were very similar, but there was a very obvious difference: they didn't have a face. Seriously, they had nothing on their heads other than glowing eyes. Another thing was that they seemed mute, as Somta hadn't heard anything close to speaking from the aliens while he was there. He also couldn't work out where the weapons the guards undoubtedly had were. As he was leaving the habitat, he noticed a distinct change in the atmosphere, with it being much warmer and humid. He wondered what he would find.

The House of Representatives was in session when the message from the Savior of Humanity came in. First impressions were rather wild, with some thinking it was a joke, and others taking it as a sign of war. However, by the time the Victory-class Star Destroyer arrived, with it's trio of escorts in tow, most of the extremists had cooled off, and most were expectant, eager to see what would happen. Captain Llevian was impressed by the reception party. Nearly two hundred of the oddly shaped, but heavily equipped, battlecruisers were in parade formation when they had docked, and wings of fighters were surrounding each subformation. Straightening his collar, Llevian walked across the room to check the obstinate thing in the mirror. Just as he got it to decency, one of the stormtroopers opened the primary door, and gave him the summons to the House.

Walking into the Hearing Room was quite awe-inspiring. Not just that the room itself could serve as a hangar to frigates, but it looked as if it was at maximum capacity. Hundreds of sections were occupied by dozens of people each. And in some cases... they weren't people. The aliens Somta had found on his explorations were present, in all their regal glory, as well as what looked like humans at range, but on closer inspection were covered in scales, instead of carapace. A column started rising before the Captain could get any further in his observations, and he redirected his attention to it. The person in the small area on top tapped on the microphone to make sure it was on, then started. "Welcome to our next session Councilors. We are here to rule on our position regarding the Cabalans and their government, as well as any actions resulting. Therefore, let the Captain of the vessel tell us the history of their government, as well as anything we need to know. Captain, if you would please tell your story." To Llevian, this was one of the longest walks of his life, with the longest definitely being after he had crashed his training Interceptor into the largest statue of the Emperor on the world. Arriving at the column, a smaller elevator took him to the top. The man offered him the mike, and Llevian accepted it, while turning to the assembled representatives.

"Greetings, Representatives of the United Species. While I don't know the details of some of the events I will speak of, I can tell you of the importance of said event. The rise of the Empire was a dark time, and a stain on our honor. An evil man had used the excuse of a war he had engineered to transform the Republic, which, while corrupt, tried to do it's best to do what was right, and turn it into the Galactic Empire, a ruthlessly xenophobic and human centric organization that used despicable methods to retain 'order.' Entire species were eradicated or enslaved. Out of the darkness of this early period, several ranking officers from the outer rim were able to form their own shadow government to try and restrain this wanton cruelty. By the time of the Battle of Yavin, this movement had gained a large following, primarily among those who were being abused or given orders without regards for morals or ethics. Previously, the Rebel Alliance had organized itself to overthrow the tyranny of the New Order. The primary founders of the Rebellion were Galen Marek, Princess Leia Organa, and Senators Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, and Garm Bel Iblis, who gathered what support they could, and waged a guerrilla war on the Empire. After destroying two moon sized battle stations, and the Emperor himself, they founded their New Republic. However, before the Sector Cabal could think about joining them, their leaders started squabbling, and forgetting what they had had others fight for. Now, while better than the New Order, their government is falling deeper into tyrannical actions. I plead for your support to liberate the sentients that have to suffer, and to protect my planets and people."

The crew of the Carrack class cruiser on sentry duty in this system was getting restless. Even the Captain knew that _nothing_ couldhappen here, with the New Republic on the other side of Imperial space. Of course, that only served against Rebel operations, but there was no other reliably hostile factions in the galaxy. So when the Victory Star Destroyer dropped out of hyperspace only a few dozen kilometers off their bow, the bridge crew was jolted out of whatever they were doing (which included the navigator shaving at his console). Within seconds, the automated challenge had been sent, and a transmission received. The captain of the small frigate was astounded to recognize the Star Destroyer's captain. "Nice to be seeing you. Our escort should be arriving momentarily..." Dozens of capital ships started popping out of warp, in formation with the Victory-class destroyer. The hammerheaded cross-shaped vessels were each 900-meters long, and 150 wide. There were two other types of vessels present: a deep bellied ovoid, and a frigate sized brick-shaped thing with racks of what had to be absurdly sized missiles, and gatling type weapons. Another voice came over the comms, human, but not Cabal: "Take us to your leaders."

Lieutenant Harding loved the feeling he got as his team crushed another group of dissenters, otherwise known as political opponents. Lately, his jobs had started coming with more frequency as more varied groups had established a presence on Coruscant. Many of the newcomers expected to be welcomed by an open democracy, and be able to tell their sob stories and have something done about it. Unfortunately, the bureaucracy had been mired down in court cases and power plays, so there wasn't much of a semblance of order if you were an old hand. Unfortunately, the three main founders had either died, been killed, or disappeared, so there wasn't anyone keeping track of what anyone was doing. When Harding entered the blaster pocked building his group was using as they're current base of operations, one of his locally recruited message boys handed him a datachip, and ran off. Feeling curious, he slid the device into his datapad, and read the short message. Then stopped and started over again, as usually people wanted him to do assignments on-planet, not travel halfway across the galaxy. He knew this, though: nobody shelled out this kind of cash for a milk run.

One of the deep-penetrating scout ships had returned from the Unknown Regions, and had found a forgotten world. Adumar was a verdant world, and Wedge barely saw it. He was more concerned over the three messages in his mail, and how they applied to his mission. One told of the discovery of another Star Destroyer, that had arrived at the same time as they had. The second was a brief message telling of another batch of personnel into his command. While not explicitly stating what the men were, Wedge suspected that it was a mercenary band that a politician had rolled into his group, ostensibly for "security." The third was the entrance of another faction into the tug of war that was the political scene here. The Terrans, as the newcomers ad been labeled, had an air of mystery around them, as the only information about them was from a wrecked pirate fleet, showing fighters blasting their piratical opponents with streams of tracer fire, amid looping maneuvers. As Wedge finished, there was a knock on his door. Turning off the pad, he got up and opened the door. The NRI officer onboard was officially there to keep tabs on the officers, and give debriefings to personnel. _Unofficially, _the man had the task of enforcing orders and discipline. "General Antilles. It is time to descend to the planet." Wedge nodded, went and grabbed several bags from his room, and headed to the hangar. He made it eight steps before his wingman caught up to him. Tycho Celchu was a lean man, blond, graying in dignified fashion at the temples, with handsome features and an aristocrats bearings. After the attempted brainwashing by Isard on the Lusankya, the destruction of his family by the Death Star, and an exile by suspicious politicians, he had been hardened in spirit. Now, he was a fearsome opponent in battle, but acted rather blandly. He fell in formation with Wedge, but said nothing. Entering the cavernous hangar of the Imperial Star Destroyer Allegiance, Wedge was struck by the notable lack of activity. The only occupants were two men in uniform, and a women with... two heads. Wedge did a double take, but followed manners and etiquette and shook hands with the lead officer first.

"Hello, General. It's good to see you out of The Holes, if even for a few minutes." Wedge grinned and replied: "Just taking the rookies down a notch." On the two week long trip to Adumar, Wedge had very nearly claimed a simulator as his own, burning down hundreds of virtual enemies, and nearly every pilot on board. Gesturing to the man next to him, Wedge continued "This is my wingman Tycho, and my other companions should be here before long. And, um... She has two heads." The woman gave a grin, but stayed silent.

"This is Red Leader. Red Flight, are we good to go?"

"Red Two, Ready."

"Red Three, four lit and ready to burn."

"Red Four, nothings gone wrong yet."

Ryand Kazansky looked up towards the other fighter in his unit, a sleek, golden Protoss Scout, as he heard the Republic fighter pilots voices. "Striker, what do you make of them? Why are they using a color for their elements?" The Protoss pilot that was keeping pace above his cockpit took time in replying. His psychic 'voice' was a deep rumble in Ryand's mind. "My guess is that it was a symbolic gesture, from a period long ago. How are your pilots doing?" Ryand called up the members of his flight on his visor, seeing green lights from each. "Mobius, Eternity, and Hyde are all reporting in the green. Do we have permission to enter the atmosphere?" The voice of the adjutant, that was stationed on the battlecruiser they had just left, sounded in Kazansky's ears: "The captain gives permission, and the Chief is saying that you better bring your ships back intact, or he'll have your hide." That caused laughter from each of the four fighter element, and, one by one, they slipped into the atmosphere.

Craning his head, Ryand could get Mark One confirmation of six unknowns, and the red streaks the X-Wings were leaving in the sky as they reentered. Eternity's voice came onto his speakers, just as a small alert activated. "Sir, four of the twenty contacts have gone hostile, and have announced their intentions to knock us down." The hard, accent smeared voice was redirected to his fighter: "Fam Flat, tha flightknife approaching yore position... Buan ke Shia challenges Atarnity! Answer!" Ryand didn't need to hear any more. "All Vikings, prepare to do our duty. Split into two ship flights." A grin split his face, even as his golden visor lowered over his face. "Fortune favors the bold. Accelerate to attack speed!"


	3. Chapter 3

The local fighters were on the large side for single man vehicles. At  
roughly half again the dimensions of the Vikings Ryand and his unit  
were flying. At fifty kilometers, the indicator lights for the first  
two Ripwaves in his fighter's racks winked green. He waited until the  
distance shortened to half of that before he fired. Not even seconds  
after, six more missiles leapt off their own fighters, and started  
bearing down on their targets. A dozen similar lights were spat out of  
the black dots in the distance, causing the formation of humpbacked  
fighters to split apart. The Ripwave-3 missiles were nearly twice as  
fast as the local missiles, causing the Adumari pilots to  
underestimate them at first, as they didn't know the true potential of  
their adversaries. The first pair of missiles detonated a mere hundred  
feet from the black craft, peppering them with shrapnel. A thin stream  
of smoke issued from various places on the craft, before nosing over  
into a terminal dive. The remaining Ripwaves weren't nearly as  
successful as the first pair, but each closed to an average of 150  
feet before exploding, causing extensive gouging and multiple puncture  
in the targets hulls. The survivors of the first attack broke up, with  
two whirling onto Mobius, and three pulling up to gain the height  
advantage over the Vikings. Ryand was dimly aware of his opponent's  
woes, as he pulled the nose of the Viking into a high-G turn to  
starboard, causing the six missiles locked onto him to overshoot, and  
loop around in the sights of his rear view missile radar. As they  
steadied out on his six, two wobbled and fell, out of fuel. Ryand's  
mouth curved in a grin, and pulled up and over, to head directly  
towards the three climbing Blades. He slowed more, flicked the weapon  
selector on his yoke, and pulled the trigger. The stream of tracers  
wound their way into the starboard wing of one of the Blade 32, as the  
mission briefing had labeled them. The entire wing shuddered, and  
disintegrated in the face of the withering firepower. However, the  
Blade hung in, even as his former wing tore loose from the fighter,  
firing his own main weapons, which slammed into the frontal armor of  
the Viking's flight mode, causing small craters to form. However, as  
the two fighters flashed past, the four remaining missiles intersected  
the Blade. The one direct impact completely shredded the hapless  
fighter, and debris caused two more Adumari missile to detonate. The  
final one stayed true, homing in on Ryand's fighter, and he pulled a  
sharp turn to present his Vikings belly to the missile. When the  
impact came, it was rather weak. Leveling out, Ryand took stock of his  
unit's damage. Eternity's port gatling cannon had taken severe damage,  
Mobius was nearly critical after ramming a Blade who had evaded his  
aim, and Hyde was nearly undamaged, knocking out the last hostile  
fighter. The small yellow explosion in the woods below seemed rather  
anticlimactic. After several moments, Ryand ordered: "Fame Flight,  
continue on the flight path. Let's get some answers."  
Wedge didn't know what to expect from the line of fighters. "Red  
Flight, what do you make of these flights?" Red Four, whose name was  
Hobbie Klivian, replied, in his dour tone, "Maybe they're a gauntlet."  
Wedge looked over the lines of contacts, flying parallel to their  
course. "Maybe if they were firing, but here they are more like  
distance markers." His astromech, Gate, beeped at him, drawing his  
attention to his sensors. "What is it Gate? The only thing over there  
is the welcome mat for the Terrans, and... Red Two, can you confirm  
this?" Gate gave him a harsh blat for not believing in his skills, and  
Tycho came back over the comm. Yes, sir. The four Terran fighters have  
destroyed six enemy craft, using slug throwers and some type of  
missile." Red Three, the irrepressible Wes Janson, put in his two  
cents: "If those pilots can win, using pebble throwers, I'd hate to  
see what they could do with proper weapons." A short pause, before the  
channel crackled again. "Three, Two. Shut up. Over."  
As Fame Flight dropped down towards the open area in the square, the  
assembled crowd gasped and recoiled, as legs dropped out of the  
Vikings fuselages, absorbing the shock of landing. The Vikings had  
shifted to walkers, with their gatling cannons powered down and  
missiles similarly locked. A short hissing noise caused a few in the  
crowd to back off nervously, then the cockpit canopies all popped  
open, letting out the four pilots. Ryand reviewed them as they formed  
a line and stood to attention. Flight Officer Grank Coral, aka Mobius,  
was a 44 year old veteran of the Second Great War, his bionic  
replacement for his left arm standing mute testimony to his  
experiences. His green eyes locked onto Ryand for a split second, then  
flicked back to straight ahead. Although Grank had been through  
Purgatory, all four battles for it, his stance showed a grim  
certainty, his look enforced by his buzzcut head, and the lack of  
decoration on his pilot-issue CMC-480 armor, still with its factory  
fresh drab green coloration. Ryand moved down the line, to Flight  
Officer First Class Chance Coral, aka Eternity. She was the younger  
sibling to Grank, and as such hadn't served in the GWII. Her red eyes  
gleamed with an enthusiasm to prove herself, but also contained a note  
of aloofness. Her armor was painted with a digital camouflage of dark  
blue and green, useful for hiding in the skies of normal, Earth-like  
planets after punching out. The last pilot was Hyde, who was a  
neurally resocialized criminal, and not even Ryand knew his true  
story. In a rare display of courtesy, the pilot's visor was up,  
revealing ice blue eyes, in a face locked in an expression of  
permanent disdain. Satisfied with the short review, Lieutenant  
Commander Kazansky climbed the stairs on top of the impromptu stage  
set up in the square, and finally noticed the viewscreens set around  
on the buildings. Fighters wheeled and died, reenacting every battle  
he had been in; excluding the Hybrids. Pirate fighters from the three  
different times it had been seen as necessary to enter Republic space  
were burned down without mercy, while the one time he had fought  
"modern" fighters was displayed proudly, with the tally showing the  
total at four X-Wings and two A-Wings. The dogfight he had finished  
just five minutes ago was also featured, as long range, jumpy  
pictures. Every time the missile hit his fighter, the crowd oohed in  
appreciation. Shaking off the adulation, he walked up to the podium on  
the stage, nodding to the Protoss Zealots guarding their ambassador.  
Ryand turned as the High Templar slowly walked towards him. "Old  
friend, was it really necessary to embarrass me in this matter? I  
mean, I know I've asked for more appreciation for the Fighter Corps  
for years, but this-" Ryand gestured at the crowd, "is more than a  
little ridiculous." The High Templar chuckled. "As your people say:  
what goes around, comes around. Also, you'll need this so the people  
can hear your speech." The patriarch of the Auriga tribe clipped a  
small, silver object to the Terran's helmet. Ryand slumped in  
exasperation, then turned to the assembled people. Good thing I have a  
plan for speeches, he thought.  
Step One: Remind them who everyone is in case they've forgotten.  
"People of Cartann, and Adumar in general, I am Lieutenant Commander  
Ryand Kazansky, and it's my pleasure to meet you at last." His voice  
emerged from three strategically placed poles, allowing the entire  
crowd to hear him. His comments elicited a loud reaction, with many of  
the people starting to chant "Car-tann...Car-tann."  
Step two: Remind them of what you're here for. "On behalf of the  
United Species, I am pleased to be here for the historic meeting of  
our peoples." The cheering became more generalized, with the chanting  
dying out.  
Step Three: Say something personal so they know you are paying  
attention. Ryand gestured at the surrounding video screens. "I'm  
impressed that you would go to so much effort for me, and will see if  
I can replicate it at my home." Some laughter speckled the horde,  
interspersed with the cheering.  
Step Four: Wrap it up so you don't make a fool of yourself. "I expect  
this to be a productive relationship, and that politicians could give  
much better speeches than me. Of course, you don't know if it's true,  
right?" As the crowd laughed, Ryand gave a dutiful salute as he turned  
to leave. Suddenly he felt a hard impact on his back, and was knocked  
off the platform.

"Did you hit him?"  
"Yeah, and I hope this rifle penetrated his armor. It looked substantial."  
"Don't joke, this thing is rated for penetration for up to light  
vehicles. Now let's get out of here."

Grank immediately turned, and blitzed up the rope ladder into his  
fighter's cockpit. As the clear overhead swung down, Grank had engaged  
liftoff protocols. The Viking seemingly crouched, then exploded  
upwards, the entire body twisting into the flight configuration.  
Putting the engines to minimal thrust, he exploded forwards, directly  
over the crowd. Pulling back on the stick, he bumped up a level above  
the streets, following the red thread his HUD showed, which was the  
trace of the round. Seeing the window, and the disassembled weapon,  
Grank switched to assault mode, landing with a thud, and revved his  
cannons. A voice crackled through his helmet. "Mobius, this is  
Morpheus Control, there are two vehicles exiting the building, be  
advised that one is equipped with hidden weapons, over." The Flight  
Officer took the time to visually acquire the target, before sending  
twin streams of yellow tracers through the offending vehicle, quite  
neatly tearing it to pieces. Blaster shots pinged and sizzled off the  
armor of the Terran mech, as Grank turned to face the offending  
structure again. A small twitch of the thumb and a pull of the  
trigger, sent a pair of missiles into the bottom floor, smashing the  
support columns. The building slowly toppled, landing in the vacant  
lot next door with resounding finality.


End file.
